Riptide
by achieving elysium
Summary: "My story begins with the end of another, I suppose, as all stories do." A story that spans two worlds: in one, Annabeth Chase, armed with a ballpoint pen, searches for answers about the truth behind her boyfriend's betrayal and death. In the other, Percy Jackson leaves his home behind, turning his back on Olympus - for what, no one knows. Let the war begin. [post-BoO, dark!Percy]
1. Chapter 1

**Riptide**  
achieving elysium

chapter one: _the fire_

* * *

My story begins with a cold December morning, the air crisp and clear. There is a chill in the air that settles deep, deep into my bones. No, that is not right. My story begins with a hopeful wish, a foolish prayer to the gods that dwell in the heavens. I know they won't answer.

That isn't quite right either.

My story begins with the end of another, I suppose, as all stories do.

Close your eyes for a moment and picture this. It is a chilly December night. There is a small group of teens, who are all around seventeen or eighteen - except for one, who is fourteen. They are crowded around a stack of long pieces of wood. But this is not a bonfire. On top of the stack is a body wrapped in a dull-looking shroud. They stand in a circle on the beach, barefoot against the sand. Behind them, waves lap gently against the shore in quiet mourning.

A funeral. I am one of the few people who bothered to show up. It is I who am holding a torch, the fire casting flickering shadows around us and making my face hot.

My name is Annabeth Julia Chase; I am eighteen years old. My boyfriend, Percy Jackson, went missing for a year before being caught and sentenced to death for his betrayal of Olympus. A traitor, they call him now.

Do you see?

But I am not a petty fool, nor am I a snivelling, pining girlfriend. Yes, some of the rumors about me are true - even though he's been dead for three months, sometimes I curl up at night and cry, or I won't want to get up in the morning, or the pain will feel like drowning, so close to the surface but never there, clawing desperately for air. It's true - I want to scream and cry and rage at the skies.

My boyfriend, a traitor. My boyfriend, dead. Some days, I don't know which is harder to believe. Today is no different.

"Annabeth," Chiron says in a low voice. I turn numbly to look at him. He looks back at me and gestures at the body resting on the pyre. I step forward, and when I do, I get a glimpse of his face. His hair is messy as always. His eyes are closed; his face is pale. The only descriptive word that I can think of is dead. Very, very… dead. I stare at him, thinking of a time when he wasn't so dead or so traitorous, a time that has now died alongside Percy Jackson.

When he was still alive, Percy was.. well, he was mine. That's the only I can think to describe it, because he was mine, and I knew him like I knew the countries of the world or as sure as the worn leather grip of my dagger against my calloused hand.

But back then, anyone could tell you this: Percy Jackson is the Savior of Olympus. He's a hero. He's sweet and kind and good; he's made of loyalty and a touch of rebellion.

Now, the ugly, terrible word - traitor - hangs above his head. I can see it in the faces of the others, this word. Traitor.

But I don't believe he betrayed Olympus. Not really.

Even here, standing surrounded by a handful of people, the shroud bleak and undecorated in front of us, I do not believe it.

"Burn it," someone says. Silence.

I do.

The flames are filled with color, blues and dizzying purples, bright oranges and reds, flecks and sparks of gold against the dark sky. They eat the shroud and body ravenously. The smoke is thick and smells like incense. Like death. It clouds me and fills my lungs with darkness and spills into me, a black bitterness and grief that corrupts me.

The crowd disperses. I watch the fire sputter at the sky until there is nothing left but ash and the glow of dying embers and my own cracked, stuttering heart.

I leave it behind, too.

And that is the beginning.

Later, later, I go to Cabin Three. My Yankees hat is nestled on my head, keeping the harpies at bay. If they sense me moving around, they don't do anything about it. I whisper a small prayer to the gods as I push the door open, the moonlight from outside spilling in.

The cabin looks exactly the same as it did years ago. It's dark inside. Clothes are strewn around on the ground. There are two beds inside - singular ones and not bunk beds like most of the other cabins. On the wall next to the bed on the right is a bulletin board. I move closer, though I already know what is pinned on it.

A thousand pictures decorate the board. There's… there's Percy and his friends. There's pictures of Sally, lots and lots of her, smiling at the camera or holding up a batch of cookies or a more recent one of her holding up her newly published book. There's the Stolls, covered in whipped cream, and Clarisse, scowling at the camera and holding a spear in one hand. Katie balances a strawberry on her nose. Lou Ellen is dressed up as Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter. And then there's pictures of me. Of us.

A million captured moments. I see myself, kissing Percy on the cheek - or, more often, the mouth. We do homework together and spar and race to the mess hall. We go swimming and climb the rock wall and drive around. We do so many things in these pictures.

There is one that catches my eye, though. I reach to pull it off, taking the tack out. I am piggy-back riding Percy, my hands over his eyes and elbows resting on his shoulders. His arms are supporting my legs. He can only half-see, and I am behind him, laughing.

It's such a small, precious moment. It's the one that strikes me hardest, though, because in it, we look happy. There is nothing but happiness on my face. I remember that moment, laughing and holding onto him so I wouldn't fall. I remember feeling so good. I remember that day, when my head felt clear, and I'd slept well, and there were no nightmares or flashbacks. And I was happy.

I hold it in my hand, looking at this. This small wonder in a world of harsh reality.

Somehow, a tear leaks out of my eye. Then another. Then another. Gods, when did everything go wrong? I thought we were happy. I thought everything was okay.

That maybe one day we could do what I'd once thought was never possible. For a second, I imagine for myself a perfect future. Something permanent. Maybe once we could have gone to college in New Rome. I would study their architecture for hours on end. Maybe Percy really would study surfing.

I put the picture in my pocket and turn to leave. That future will never happen. Not for me.

Something stops me from leaving, though. I am drawn to the small nightstand next to his bed. On it sits a familiar ballpoint pen. I take it and turn it in my hands. Over and over. On it is a familiar inscription. _Anaklusmos._

When I pull off the cap, it turns into a three-foot long Celestial Bronze sword. Deadly and beautifully wicked. It glows faintly in the dark, and memories spring to my head, unbidden. I recap it and put that in my pocket, too.

The night is too suffocating. The shadows of the cabins close in on me when I step outside. The cool air is suddenly not enough for me. The camp is not enough for me. I know at once that something has changed.

I can't stay here. I can't. After all, Camp Half-Blood no longer feels like a home. It's the people, not the place. A lesson I've learned.

That's that. I make my decision then, a decision in a split second. There is no loudly proclaiming. There is no fanfare. It's just me, a sword, and the ghosts of my past haunting me.

No one but Peleus notices I leave. Ten minutes later, I have made my way down the hill, past the safety of my once-called home. Past the borders. Past my old life and into a new one. Peleus snorts and raises his large head in a sort of salute as he watches me push through the tall grass. I turn around and salute him, too.

"See you around, Peleus," I mutter, smiling. The moonlight catches in his scales and turns them a deep midnight blue. I capture this moment in my mind, saying goodbye to the only home that I'd ever really known.

_Percy_, my heart whispers.

While San Francisco is where I belong, New York has always held a place in my heart. There's always something so comforting about the city. No one stares at you. There are always people moving. Lights turn on just as quickly as they are shut off. Cars honk. I always feel so small there, one in a million. It's refreshing, actually, this city. I become part of a living, breathing city.

The other good thing about no one ever going to sleep here is that there is always a cabdriver waiting for someone to drive. I step out onto the street and wave at the first yellow car I see. It pulls in immediately, and I step back quickly to avoid being run over. (That might delay my plans quite a bit.)

"Where to, miss?" he asks me when I slide into the front seat. He glances at me, eyeing my appearance and the duffel bag I have in my lap.

I rattle off the address to the Jackson-Blofis residence before I can stop myself. He just drives, weaving through the traffic like a pro.

Another thing I like about New York: the people here don't ask very many questions. I must look like a teenage runaway - some poor kid who decided that being yelled at or something was too much. Hell, I don't look like a New Yorker or act like one, either. But none of that matters.

The ride there is silent. I mostly stare out the window and try to formulate a plan. I have two hundred dollars in cash, two weapons, some clothes, and.. no lead. A great start to an adventure. Cars flash by, streaks of red and blue and green. The city is alive with energy. Each building glows with a different color. Far above, the night sky shimmers.

The thought hits me when I see an office building. DARE ENTERPRISES, it says, and my mind goes into overdrive. Dare - Rachel Elizabeth Dare, that sneaky girl.

Stop for a moment, and instead imagine this:

Two girls. One has a mane of bright red curls. Her eyes are green, her skin freckled. There is a smudge of blue paint on her cheek, and her fingers are rough and calloused from the grip of a paintbrush. The other has wild blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes are grey, her skin tan. Her appearance is clean, polished - but if you look closely, dark bags hang under her eyes, and heaviness rests on her shoulder.

June 14, 2010. The first girl is Rachel Elizabeth Dare, part-time Oracle of Delphi and part-time artist. The second is Annabeth Chase, part-time hero and part-time student.

"What do you know about Percy?" I demand. Rachel is calm, not at all fazed by my shouting.

She smiles thinly. "Don't give up on him, Annabeth. Don't ever give up on him." This frustrates me. I am tired, out of my mind, and.. scared. Scared that Percy has left me for good. And this time by his own choice.

"Rachel," I beg, looking at my friend. "You know I'd never give up on him."

Her eyes glint with secret knowledge. "Don't say that," she warns me sadly.

"Rachel?"

"When the time is right, head north to a place where the gods can't touch you. You won't be alone, but it'll be hard."

"When the time is right?" I mutter angrily. "This isn't some cheap movie. How am I supposed to know what time is wrong and what time is right, Rach?"

"Trust me," she pleads. And I do. I do trust her. "That's all I can tell you." The sky rumbles warningly above us, the flash of lightning in a faraway place. Rachel eyes the sky and bites her lip.

I sigh. "Thanks, Rachel." We hug.

"Don't thank me yet," she whispers in my ear before we separate. Then the two girls part.

This conversation comes back to me as I sit in the car. When the time is right. It looks like the right time now, I decide. There is not a time more right than one o'clock in the morning with a death wish.

North, Rachel had told me. To a place where the gods can't touch you. There is only one place I can think of - Alaska, the land beyond the gods. They can't go there; they hold no power in that land. Good thing is, demigods do. After all, we can go anywhere, do anything, challenge anyone - as long as we are bold enough and brave enough to do it.

I'm not sure I'm bold enough or brave enough at the moment - but I do know I'm foolish enough. That counts, right?

"We're here, miss," the cabdriver says, interrupting my thoughts. I pull out a few bills and toss them on the dash as the door swings open. I keep it open awkwardly with a leg and throw my things to the sidewalk.

"Thank you," I tell him, and the door closes. He drives off the moment I do so, and I am left a bit miffed in the cold.

I shake my head and snap out of it. Now is not the time.

The apartment building looms over me. It is tall and menacing, but I am far from afraid. The buildings cut out beautiful, angular shapes in the dark. This particular building is different from its neighbors. Some lights are on, some are off. Some are dim, some are bright, some are completely dark. I eye them and wonder which one is Sally's. Is it dim, a quiet place filled with hope and warmth? Bright, with energy and half-hidden adventures? Dark, with a deathly silence and too-still pictures hanging on the walls?

I hope it isn't the last one. While the night itself is inviting, the darkness is not.

There is no one in the lobby to greet me, just an empty front desk. I don't need anyone's help, anyway; I head straight for the elevator to my right and press the button with a faded five on it. The elevator begins its ascent, and there is no music playing in it. Already two hundred times better than Olympus' elevator. I smile at the mirrored walls and look at my reflection.

I reach out and press a palm against the glass. My reflection copies me; we look at each other with red, tired eyes and a grim expression. I look nothing like myself.

Or maybe I'm just a pathetic person in denial, and here is my true self, a reflection in a rickety old elevator. The thought is not a comforting one.

There is a _ding_ as I reach the fifth floor. The doors slide open, and I drag myself out. I glance back at the silver doors and my own distorted reflection before a strange feeling overcomes me. I hurry down the hall. Seeing myself like this… I don't like it. It makes me feel uneasy, like the feeling of coldness when being stalked by something hidden in the shadows.

But there are worse things that that. I square my shoulders and swallow hard, looking at the door to 221A.

"Well, it can't get any worse, can it?" I mumble to myself, already dreading what is to come next as I raise my hand to knock.

* * *

**I just wanna try this out. I wanna know what you guys think, 'cause this writing style is new, and this story is new, and I'm kind of unsure about myself. So do tell me what you think.**

**(This will be told in two POVs - Annabeth in the present day and Percy in the past!)**

_achieving elysium_


	2. Chapter 2

**Riptide**  
achieving elysium

chapter two: _journey_

* * *

If someone had asked if there was one thing Percy Jackson hated more than standardized testing or Olympus, he would probably tell them waiting. He hated waiting, despised waiting - which was saying something, since there weren't many things that he really, really hated.

Percy glanced at the time and grimaced. 3:49. The train was supposed to arrive four minutes ago, at three forty-five, but it hadn't come. In the four minutes, Percy had wasted a dollar in a vending machine (see, he'd gotten the dam thing and held it for two seconds before it was knocked out of his hand and trampled by a horde of kids), (partially) broken the strap of his duffel bag, almost pulled out Riptide a few times (an accident), and had wondered if there had ever been a weapon that shrank to a paint can (reason being, he had the urge to cover half the train station in Celestial Bronze paint in his frustration as an act of vandalism).

Percy checked the time again. It was _still_ 3:49.

"Gods," he declared, lifting his face to the sky. "I know your powers are kaput here, but I feel like you've set some terrible must-wait-a-long-time curse on me. Seriously? That's what you think of?"

There was no reply, obviously.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. A cold breeze blew through, and fingers made of ice trailed along his bare skin. He shivered, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself.

"Would it be faster to walk?" he mumbled, staring at the empty train station. "That'd make my life _so _much easier."

A dog barked loudly, high-pitched with the most annoying sound he'd ever heard. He glanced next to him to see a Chihuahua straining at the end of its leash, yapping at what appeared to be a piece of gum stuck on the floor. In his mind, he pictured a different Chihuahua, one more deadly and dangerous - though maybe less annoying. At least the Chimera had tried to kill him with poison rather than barking at him.

3:50.

Finally, the train arrived, and people flocked to the edge, ready to climb on even before the train stopped. When it did, a flood of people pushed and shoved their way in; Percy followed a smaller crowd that would hopefully mean more privacy and no Chihuahuas.

Thankfully, Percy found a window seat with _no one next to him _and also _no Chihuahuas_, fire-breathing or not. He was pretty sure he'd have noticed if there were.

"Thank the gods," Percy muttered, but he caught himself on the last word. Thank the... gods. The ones he'd left behind to lounge on their thrones and watch as their children died.

But then again, he mused, setting his duffel bag next to him and staring out the window at the bleak landscape, thank the Titans didn't really have the same ring to it. Neither did Kronos or Gaea, two of Olympus' worst enemies.

_Oh, yes_, he thought dryly. _My train is late, thank Kronos. _

With that happy thought, the train began to move. Percy stared at the window and hoped he wouldn't have to thank Kronos for much else.

Three hours later, standing on a train platform and watching the train leave, Percy realized that he'd jinxed himself. Now, things would take _forever_.

"Fuck you, Kronos," he muttered. Just like the gods, there was no answer. Percy shivered. He hadn't particularly wanted one, anyway.

He took a second to look around. The place was still exactly as he remembered it, which was both a good and bad thing. There was a payphone, silver and blue at the edge of the platform. Percy paused before rushing over to it. He didn't know what he was doing, and he knew that this could end very, very badly. Phone calls were traceable, weren't they?

Still, he found himself pushing his spare change into the slot and punching a familiar number.

It would be about eight in New York. Paul liked turning on music at this time, and the soft singing of the radio would drift through the apartment. He'd grade papers while sitting on the couch. His mom loved writing in the evening, humming along to the ballads and yelling at either Percy or Paul about inspiration when she got stuck.

The likelihood that one of them would pick up the phone... well, it was very high. But it was too late to go back now; he'd pressed the call button. The payphone stand dug into his waist, and he tugged at the coiled phone wire thing he had never learned the name of as he waited.

_Ring. Ring. _

Then: "_Hello_?"

"Mom, is that you?" His hand stilled.

"_Percy?_" He closed his eyes.

"Yeah... yeah, it's me." His voice sounded rough and harsh.

"_Oh, gods, Percy. Where are you?_"

_Remember, _he told himself. _Remember your promise. _He took a deep breath, resolved. "I can't... I can't tell you, Mom. I... sorry."

"_Percy_," she sighed on the other end. "_You're safe, though_?" Percy looked up, eyeing a nearby person who was watching him. A demigod; he could tell.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he told her. He hated the lie, of course, but at least there was some truth to it. "Mom, _please _don't worry about me."

"_Percy, you can't ask that of me. I'm going to worry._"

"I'll be fine," he ground out. "Look, Mom... please don't come looking for me, okay? Don't trace this number, don't tell anyone about me leaving-"

"_What about the gods, Percy? You remember what happened last time. And the camps were thrown into complete chaos. What's going on?" _Percy barely processed her words. There was a flash of black out of the corner of his eye. Feeling watched, he turned very, very slowly.

"Um," he said, pausing in his answer. He met the gaze of beady black eyes. "The gods know where I'm going. I've made it clear to them. And Camp... well, they'll just have to deal with it on their own." _Just like with everything else. _A bitterness had crept into his voice.

"_Percy-_"

The raven perched on top of a sign suddenly launched itself off and flew straight at Percy. He let out a breath of air, heart beating erratically, as the giant bird landed on the payphone box. It cocked its head at him and let out a soft croak.

"Mom," he interrupted, keeping his eyes on the raven. "I have to go soon."

"_Percy, wait-_"

"Listen to me," he hissed down the line, impatient but without malice. "Listen to me very carefully, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "I don't know if I'm coming back from this. I don't know exactly where I'm going or what I'm going to be asked to do. Some of those things... they're going to go against everything you taught me, and I'm sorry for it. I dunno what's gonna happen to me, Mom, and I'm not gonna lie - I'm scared."

"_Percy, please, you don't have to do this._"

"I do have to do this. Look, I don't have any time left. Just listen, okay? _I love you. _Just in case this is the last time I'll ever speak to you... in case you find out what's going on and begin to hate me-"

"_I could never hate you._"

"Yes," he told her, looking at the raven. "You _will_ hate me. But... I love you, okay? I love you." He hung up before she could respond. There. Everything was in place now. Then he curled his fingers around the ballpoint pen in his pocket.

"I'm ready," he said, looking up at the raven. Beady eyes examined him, old and powerful.

"_Follow me, half-blood,_" it croaked, the voice raspy. Then it flapped its wings - once, twice, three times - and began heading for Hubbard Glacier in the distance. A perfect black feather drifted to the ground, and Percy picked it up, marveling at it.

Then he ran after the bird and prayed he was going the right way.

Two hours later, the sun had dipped lower in the sky, and Percy was ready to collapse on the nearest riverbank to drink the clearest water he'd probably ever taste. Or scoop up some snow, whichever was more convenient.

His legs were aching. His arms were tired from the strain of hefting his duffel bag and clearing his own path through the wilderness. He was hungry, too, though he'd pulled out a packet of dried nuts and fruits he'd packed for his journey.

Not to mention the gods-damned _mosquitoes._ They were in the Alaskan wilderness in winter. It was freezing cold, he thought his butt was going to fall off, and _there were still mosquitoes. _Apparently, his half-blood half-ichor was a delicious combination, and the first mosquito had spread the word to all his buddies.

He slapped at a black speck and sighed. "Can we stop?" he called up to the raven, still flying. It made a u-turn in the sky and came wheeling back, landing on the branch of a nearby tree. "Geez, why is this place so far?"

_"My Lady makes it to_ _be._"

Percy glared at the offending bird. "It was rhetorical question," he told it, sitting down on a log. Two hours of hiking through miserable Alaskan wilderness - trees, snow, boulders, monsters, and all. All of his demigod training had done little to help.

"Are we close?" he asked, eyeing Hubbard Glacier, a grey form in the distance. Last time, they'd taken a boat there from Anchorage, cutting across the ocean. But there was land, too, cities like College Fjord and Valdez and Cordova, all terrible names, though he was sure Leo might've protested had he been here. So even though he'd pulled the son of Poseidon card, the raven had been adamant on going over land, though he wasn't sure why.

"_Closer still can we be._"

Percy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Lead the way, bird-o," he said, standing up to stretch. This had _better _be worth it.

A couple (hundred?) tiring miles later, the raven told him that they had reached their destination.

"You're kidding," Percy said, raising a hand to scratch an eyebrow. "We're really here, Mr. GPS?"

If the bird could roll its eyes, it probably would. "_We have arrived, home we have found._"

Percy paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. _Home we have found_, it'd said. Not _home _like with his mom and Paul, the smell of freshly baked cookies wafting through, the apartment, not _home _like... like Camp Half-Blood, so safe and comfortable. But it would be a different home, and that was enough.

He ducked under a branch and froze. His first thought went something like: _Not like Camp at all. _

It wasn't all bleak and dreary like he'd expected. He'd kind of imagined some poor refugee camp, with thin, flapping tents and demigods half-freezing their butts off, huddled in circles, trying to stay warm as they sharpened their weapons or whatever.

As far as Percy could tell, it was nothing like he'd thought it would be.

"Camp Ichor," a voice called, and Percy's hand went for his pocket, where Riptide was. He didn't draw it, though; this person would be his friend and not an enemy. "Welcome."

"Um, thanks," Percy replied as a guy stepped out from one of the tents. He was maybe a few years older than him, early twenties, probably. He was the one with obvious authority. The guy looked like an Ares kid: big, bad, and mean. He was pretty tall, with dark skin and black hair. Lighter scars covered his arms; a wicked one was straight along his cheek, as if someone had thrown a knife at him. He was dressed in army green, a vest over a black tee and pants.

"The name's Bryce," he continued, holding out a hand to shake.

"Percy." They shook hands. Bryce had a strong grip. He was left-handed, Percy noted, a part of his brain filing away every detail he could find.

"Percy," Bryce mused, looking him up and down. The teen in question sighed, knowing what was coming next. "Percy, as in Percy Jackson? Savior of Olympus and whatever shit they're feeding those half-bloods?"

He winced and snapped back. "I did save Olympus." Then he shrugged, giving Bryce a cold, sharp smile. "and now I wanna destroy it."

Bryce nodded, clasping Percy's shoulder. "Understandable. Big change, though." He laughed loudly. "Now, c'mon, I'll show you around and then introduce you to My Lady."

Percy nodded, something dark inside of him twisting and turning. "Lead the way."

As he followed Bryce deeper into the camp, he hoped he'd made the right choice by coming here. The raven on his shoulder cawed and did nothing to calm the small seed of doubt that had begun to grow.

* * *

**And here's the first chapter in Percy's POV! I know it's short and kind of boring, but we're going to see who this "Lady" is soon enough unless I spoiled it in the summary? I'll have to check. **

**And I _know _he might seem OOC, but please remember the Percy you're seeing right now is one who is actively choosing to betray and hopefully take down Olympus. Just something to remember. **

**Also future cussing as a warning, though I'll try really hard to tone it down. (Please tell me if this story deserves a M rating, okay?) **

**Next up, Annabeth. (And Sally and Paul and kind of Zeus in a way.)**

**So what are your thoughts on the beginnings of dark!Percy? **

_achieving elysium_


	3. Chapter 3

**Riptide**  
achieving elysium

chapter three: _suspicion_

* * *

I want to stay here forever. Here in the cozy Jackson-Blofis apartment, curled up on the worn blue couch, comfortable and safe. There's a lingering scent in the air like the kind I expect to smell in a cafe - freshly brewed coffee and baked cookies.

Sally says nothing as she bustles around the kitchen, preparing some late-night (or early-morning, I suppose) snacks to keep us awake. Paul sits across from me in a loveseat, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. I feel bad to have interrupted their rest; to know your dead boyfriend is a traitor is one thing, but to raise a son with such love and later to find he is both dead and a traitor is another.

Paul finally interrupts the little bubble of quiet that has formed around us. "Annabeth," he says wearily, everything about him tired. "Not that we don't love having you here, but why did you come?" His dark eyes are unsettling, more knowledgeable about the world I live in than I would ever give him credit for.

"I-" I start to say, but I am saved by Sally, who comes into the living room and sets a tray down on the coffee table. She hands Paul and I a steaming mug before curling up next to her husband, tucking her feet up.

"Sugar and a bit of milk, right?" she asks me, and I stare down at the swirling liquid.

"Yeah," I say softly, grateful. Coffee preference is in no way important, but to have someone who cares so much that they remember my coffee preference is heartwarming, in a way. "Thanks."

She smiles. "It's no problem, dear."

Paul takes a sip. "You didn't answer my question earlier." I wrap my fingers around the mug, warmth seeping into my hands, and blow softly. Steam rises up and drifts away.

I take a deep breath, and before I can regret it, I blurt out, "I think Percy was innocent."

Silence greets my words. Sally looks pained but understanding, but Paul looks almost confused, in a way. I swallow hard. "I don't think he betrayed Olympus."

Sally looks away. Paul stares at me, a terrible accusation written in his face. He swings his head to look back and forth between us, and I know he hasn't been told the full truth. "You said he died because of Nyx. You told me he fought in battle and was later killed by her. Did you lie to me?"

I answer. "We didn't lie," I say carefully, gaze flickering to the window. Lightning flashes. The gods are listening. "Not really. The gods - when he betrayed us - forbade us to tell anyone anything about the matter unless they're blood-related. I was allowed to tell Sally - I mean, I would've told her anyway, she deserved to know - but I wasn't allowed to tell you."

I glance out the window nervously. Sally sees me and speaks up, concerned. "Will they punish you for telling him?"

Thunder rumbles. A warning. "I can't say anymore than what I've just told you. They're being _very_ hush-hush about what happened to Percy and why exactly he left like he did. They swore an oath or something to... I don't know, but I have a feeling even they aren't allowed to tell us anything about Percy. His death wasn't- it wasn't a traitor's death, I mean, I don't know." The words come pouring out, the suspicions I've held back coming to light. "And Percy would never just betray us without a reason, there's no way... I mean, they've been keeping to themselves lately, and they're letting me go-"

Sally narrows her eyes, putting the pieces together: my appearance, my things, my story. "Where are you going?"

Thunder again. "I can't tell you," I say, already on edge. One hand jumps to my dagger in its sheath. "I've already said too much. It was a mistake coming here; I've put you in danger. I have to go." I set down my coffee, untouched. My bag is where I left it by the door, and my jacket is still on the hook.

"Annabeth-" Paul says, looking stricken, and I look away, ashamed.

"Wait, Annabeth," Sally tells me, disappearing down the hall. I slide on my sneakers and hesitate. She comes back with a hoodie, one I recognize instantly. It's blue with faded white lettering. On the front are three running wolves (something I find ironic), the mascot of Goode High, and on the back is written GOODE HIGH SWIM TEAM. Underneath that, in smaller letters, JACKSON.

She folds it in half and presses it into my arms, her eyes softening and changing to the color of the sea, the same green Percy's used to be. I wonder if she ever looks into the mirror when this happens, and what she thinks of it.

"Take this," she says, and I do without argument because her mind has been made up. "I want you to have it. And this." She tugs at something on her hand, and smaller item is pressed into my palm, cold metal in the form of a small ring. I look at it, the memories of what Sally told me springing to my mind. A small, thin band of Celestial Bronze topped with a beautiful trident made of the same material, tiny letters etched on the inside of the ring.

"But it's not mine," I protest, looking at it. There's a pale line on Sally's middle finger where her ring used to be. A birthday present to her, two matching rings as a promise of his love of his mother. He'd sent it after Camp was told about the betrayal from somewhere in Canada, with a little note saying that he loved her and was still alive. That he hoped she was well and still cared for him, as twisted as he had become.

"It should be," she tells me. "He would've given a ring to you eventually if he was still alive."

My heart shudders at the intensity and the certainty in that sentence. "I can't keep this," I say finally, but my voice quivers.

"Then carry it as a promise you'll come back," she begs, her voice breaking when she says the word _promise. _"So when you've found what you want, come back and return it. So I know you will."

In her eyes I see a desperate mother who wants nothing in the world but her son back. And since she can't have that, at least the truth - and for the girl who might have one day became her daughter to come back.

So I slip it in my pocket next to Riptide and tie the hoodie around my waist. "Thank you," I tell them both as I step out the door. I don't bother to tell them goodbye.

My next stop is the lobby downstairs. There's a couple of chairs; I plop into one and pull out my laptop. Dad gave it to me as a late birthday present last year, and even though it isn't as good as Daedalus', it's the newest model on the market and must have cost tons. I'll have to remember to thank him for it.

The screen lights up, and I start looking at flights online. I go through a few that tell me the next flight to Alaska is today but in the afternoon or at night. I want one for later this morning - since I'm already up anyway. They're all pricey and much more than I can afford.

I frown, my fingers typing on the keyboard absently, wondering what to do. I don't have the funds to pay for _everything_, not if I want an earlier flight as well as what I'll need in Alaska. I only have enough food to cover me for a few days, freeze-dried and packaged - I can't go on a plane with anything else. Then it's possible that I might have to pay for board, somewhere to stay as I go questing, though I'll likely just camp. _And _I'll need extra money to spend just in case, for accidents and damage control and to buy clothes and necessities...

I pull my phone out of my left pocket, the one without the pen and Sally's ring. On speed dial is my dad; I'm sure I could ask him to loan me money for this, or even Sally and Paul if I have to, but something holds me back.

I make up my mind, but before I can call, my phone buzzes twice in quick succession. Texts from two unknown numbers. I pull down the notification bar and tap the screen.

The first message is from a number in Manhattan. **Dear Ms. Annabeth Chase: this is a confirmation of the flight you booked to Anchorage, Alaska at 02:38 AM. Your flight with Western Wings Airline is at 09:00 AM. **And then: _**Don't **_**be late. **

A god, it has to be. My heart thrums with relief.

The second message says: **Congratulations, Annabeth Chase. Someone has anonymously gifted you an ATHENS EXPRESS gift card of $1,000. Please go to your nearest ATHENS EXPRESS and use the verification code sent to you to recieve your gift. Please do not reply to this message. For more information, contact us. **There's a number and a website listed afterwards, but I don't bother with them.

"Thank you," I murmur into the quiet. There's a soft rumbling in the distance, the thunder a confirmation for my belief. "Thank you _so much._"

Here I am, seven or eight hours away from possibly uncovering the biggest mystery since, well, it all began. There's a thousand dollars to spend, a flight to catch, and a truth that needs to be discovered. Here I am.

I'm not completely sure if I'm ready or not.

"Screw it," I say, and the words echo. I _am _ready. I have been ready for a long, long time. "My name is Annabeth Julia Chase, and I _will _prove Percy innocent." The words make me feel better, because now it is not just an idea to shy away from. It is a fact, written in the air of an apartment lobby. It is a fact; facts are true. Facts are real.

Then I go looking for my gift of one thousand dollars and the flight to Anchorage.

Six hours later has me curled up in a comfortable chair on a Western Wing plane, first class. I have earbuds in and am chewing gum to help deal with the pressure. I tap an old-looking ballpoint pen against my palm, the only sign of nervousness. I look out the window at the people bustling around, trying to make our flight smooth.

A man in a fluorescent vest gestures up with a brightly-colored flag, signaling that it is all-clear to go. For a second, I feel as if I know him. He waves again, but this time it's with his empty hand. Waving a good-bye to the passengers on the plane - and me.

Then the plane rumbles as it begins to pick up speed, slowly gliding across the runway. I run my fingers over the pen and look back one more time. The man is gone. I close off the window and lean back, the pressure in my ears uncomfortable but manageable. Then I sleep and hope the dreams don't find me.

They do. They always do. This one is one full of snippets of half-forgotten conversations and flashes of colors, meaningless figures and ominous, whispered words.

_A girl stumbles through the wilderness. She is younger than me, maybe twelve or thirteen. She's trembling, holding a large, sharp rock in both hands as an obvious makeshift weapon. Her dark hair falls around her face like a curtain, but I can still see her eyes, green and frightened. A crash, and she turns, eyes widening-_

_Percy stands with Zeus and Poseidon outside the sea god's temple, all shell-embedded rock and cool colors. Poseidon looks old and weary. Zeus is saddened, but I can see determination in his electric blue eyes, the same look that Thalia or Jason has when they are willing to give up something for the greater good. Poseidon puts his large hand on Percy's shoulder, turning him so that they are looking each other in the eye._

_"Please, son," he says. "Don't do this. You don't have to do this." _

_Percy shakes his head, about to reply-_

_A dark-skinned male in his twenties stands over a grave alone. I can't see his face, but the grave- the grave is Percy's. He kneels and sets down flowers. _

_"Percy," he mumbles, and that is the only thing he says. Then he stalks away, but not before I catch a glimpse of his face. It's heavily scarred. I remember him from somewhere, but he is not a camper. The other side, the enemy, I think, but-_

_Percy is on his knees. I stand in a crowd of people, all of us confused and horrified. Zeus stands in front of him. Someone whispers the word _traitor_, and it travels around us. I shake my head, because it can't be him. He would never. _

_But I've seen him, seen him on the other side of the battlefield, when our eyes met, and he looked at me like I was nothing and everything to him. He looked at me like he wasn't sure if he should beg for forgiveness or attack. He looked at me like he was _sorry, _and he meant it. _

_"...Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon and traitor of Olympus." The scene continues to play out, burned in my memory. Zeus and Percy speak to each other, one the king of the gods and one a chained, desperate traitor. _

_He doesn't deny being a traitor, and I scream, pushing my way through the crowd. _

_The moment freezes. Percy, with his hands and feet shackled, his face a picture of victory. Victory, not defeat. The two camps in the throne room, every face in pain. Zeus, looking down with a stern face, Poseidon behind him, so burdened, and Hades lounging on his throne, dark eyes glittering. Only I can move, and I push through the crowd, shoving others aside. _

_There is no one to stop me here, unlike that day, when Piper grabbed one arm and Leo the other. When Thalia put her hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see her, the girl I thought of as my sister. She wrapped her arms around me as I struggled, screaming at the person who I once believed was everything to me. _

_I walk forwards, every expression in the room caught and frozen in time. Percy kneels, waiting. I approach, one step, two steps, until I am in front of him. _

_"Why?" I ask his frozen form, but there is no answer here. _

_Then Percy moves, and I gasp and stumble back. He turns, the shackles noisy as he looks at me. His face is smooth and unmarred, just like before. There's no hate in his gaze, like I expect, no betrayal. Just sorrow - and love. I want to turn away. I _need _to turn away. Everything is so real, though, the way he looks at me, the way his lips tug upwards in that crooked smile, the way his hair falls, messy and perfect. I can't turn away._

_"I love you," he tells me. I believe him, this Percy, but he isn't real. Those words haven't been said in a long, long time._

_Then he falls into an oblivion that I am all too familiar with, but this time, he falls alone as I watch him helplessly. There is nothing to pierce the silence but my own ragged breathing and the quiet dripping of my tears. Percy has slipped through my fingers once more. _

I wake up in tears.

* * *

**I know, I know, how _boring. _But it's necessary because Annabeth is an overthinker who needs resources to get her where she needs to be, and this is the chapter it happens to fall in. **

**Any guesses about Riptide? Who are the mysterious characters in her dreams? Gee, I don't know! But you probably do... **

**I'd love to know any thoughts/theories! I'm glad everyone's enjoying it so far. **

_achieving elysium_


	4. Chapter 4

**Riptide**  
achieving elysium

chapter four: _the camp _

* * *

"So our camp is pretty simple," Bryce explained as the two of them walked. "We've got canvas tents in the front set up for the soldiers." There were five camps in each row, Percy noted, and so far there were five rows.

Bryce went to an unoccupied tent and parted the front flap so Percy could see inside. "Four people per tent. Usually you're assigned to a squad, and the four of you work together, eat together, and train together."

"Like cabins," Percy muttered to himself. Okay, that was easy enough.

They walked past the last row of tents, where there was a small clearing. There were five giant fire pits; one of them was lit, and a group of demigods stood around a cast iron pot, cooking something. One of the boys, about Percy's age, waved.

"Smells good, Fletcher," Bryce called. Fletcher, lanky with curly brown hair and a sharp, mischievous-looking face, grinned and jogged over.

"Flattery's gonna get you nowhere, Bryce. We'll share dinner if you share the arena with us later today." Bryce mulled over this offer, and Fletcher noticed Percy. "You must be a newbie."

"Yeah," he said, holding out a hand to shake. "I'm Percy, uh, Jackson."

Fletcher chuckled. "Jackson, huh? We'll see if you're as good with a sword as they say. Join us in the arena later, how 'bout it?" Fletcher seemed like the kind of person who liked challenges. He was street-smart like Percy, cunning and manipulative.

"Sure," he agreed amicably. "Why not?"

"Alright, man, I'll trade you," Bryce cut in, and Fletcher's eyes glinted. "Save us a spot."

"Will do," Fletcher said, saluting with a giant wooden spoon. "See you later, Percy." He waved, and Bryce seemed to remember what they were here for.

"Uh, anyway, this is the main area. We usually hang out here in our free time. We eat here, too, and usually if my Lady has any announcements, she'll do 'em here." Bryce gestured at a row of white tents. "Infirmary right here, and the healers stay here, too, unless we're moving out."

Percy looked around, noticing a small trail in the forest to the left. "And that?" Bryce scuffed at the ground with his feet.

"That leads to my Lady's tent. You can only go if it's important, like you coming to join us, or if you're summoned. She does all her work and stuff there, holds meetings, plans, all that jazz."

Bryce led him behind the five infirmary tents to another row of tents, the color the same as the canvas ones. Each tent had a colored flag attached to them that fluttered in the wind. There were two green ones, two red, and a singular blue.

"Sometimes, we get demigods who need protection."

"Protection?" Percy asked, brows furrowing. "What do you mean by that?"

Bryce shrugged nonchalantly, though there was an underlying seriousness as he spoke. "Well, some of 'em are too young to fight. Some demigods aren't completely able to fight well enough so that they can join the army. Some of 'em just don't want to partake in the army. My Lady doesn't have much of an opinion as far as us taking in stray demigods or people who need it, so we let them stay here with the guarantee of protection that the gods don't give."

A small boy, no older than eight, darted out of a green-flagged tent. "Hiya, Bryce!" he called cheerily, waving. "Hi, mister! Gotta go!" Another, slightly older boy chased after him, and they weaved between the tents, laughing. Percy smiled as he watched them go. He'd always had a soft spot for kids.

"My Lady tolerates them at most," Bryce said, a shadow passing over his face as he said that. Percy realized that while their allegiances went to her, some of the ideas she might have weren't universally agreed with. "We all pitch in with taking care of the young ones. It's not required, see, but..." His lips thinned in displeasure.

"But what?" he pressed, not sure he wanted to know.

Bryce looked from side to side and lowered his voice. "Well, okay, it isn't _really _required. My Lady doesn't really say anything about it, but if the campers are out of line, she tends to... punish them. So we gotta do what we can, make sure the kids are okay and stuff." Percy pressed his lips together and said nothing. No matter how powerful he was, what bloodline he had... he was still new here. If _she _heard or saw him doing anything wrong, like questioning the way the kids were treated... well, he was expendable.

"And to our right is a small river, if you'll notice," Bryce cried, clapping a hand on Percy's shoulder as his tone became more cheery. "That's our main water source besides the obvious snow. We clean our own clothes, wash dishes, drink water, take baths... that's everything in there. We have bath times an hour after dinner, girls first, boys second. And across the river and through the woods-"

"Please tell me to Grandmother's house we _don't _go," Percy cut in, and Bryce chuckled, rubbing his hands together.

"Far from," the older male said.

There was a small wooden bridge across the river. Bryce crossed first, taking four long strides before he reached solid ground again. Percy glanced at the cold, swirling water beneath his feet and shuddered. There was nothing more terrifying than drowning - drowning in water, his father's domain, cold liquid seeping into his mouth and throat and lungs as he desperately gasped for air. Percy pushed the thought away and tightened his jaw.

_He _was in control of the water, of his fear, not the other way around. And he'd much rather thrust his sword through Ares' gut before letting that happen.

The wood creaked as he crossed, and they continued walking, Bryce completely unaware of the whirlwind of thoughts going through his mind.

"And finally," Bryce announced, stopping. Percy stepped out of the trees - and onto a large, flat sheet of ice. Up ahead, ramrod straight Imperial Gold spears had been placed tightly together to form a large ring, though he could still see the inside. He noted the two entries on opposite sides of the ring. Two demigods were circling each other, armed to the max. A girl darted forward and struck, but was blocked. A group of about six demigods groaned at this. "Welcome to the arena."

Percy could feel the energy in the air. The exhilaration of a fight. The sweat and blood. Sweet victory and bitter-tasting defeat. All of it _here. _

"We'll come back later," Bryce promised, and Percy let out a sigh as he was dragged away. "After all, Fletcher still wants a fight with you. But we gotta go; my Lady will be waiting, and she doesn't like being kept long."

They turned away from the fight, Percy having to remind himself not to get _too _excited.

"When you go in," Bryce instructed, voice low. "Don't look at her. Drop to your knees and wait 'til you're addressed. Don't speak unless spoken to. _Never_ challenge her. She'll punish you, first of all, and she probably won't trust you, either."

Percy took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Got it. Thanks."

"Hey, good luck, man," Bryce said, tone light but dark eyes troubled.

"Let's hope I don't need it," Percy replied, before stepping into the dark tent.

For a second, there was nothing in the tent, the pool of light from outside illuminating an empty place. His hand moved towards his pocket, but then the light disappeared as the tent fell into complete darkness. He took a deep breath, trying to control his fear, trying to calm his erraticly beating heart.

"Well, well, well," a voice crooned, and Percy immediately dropped to his knees, bowing his head. He hated this, hated being subservient, but this was the only way. "Look who we have here." It was the typical villain/evil person line, but he finally understood why it was used so much. A chill ran down his spine. _Stay still. Don't move. Don't react. _

A low, bitter laugh. "If it isn't the _great _Percy Jackson." He stayed where he was, not daring to move a muscle.

The sound of a thick, heavy cloth dragging against the ground. "And now you're here," the voice continued, light and amused. "Bowing before _me._"

"My Lady," he murmured, keeping his head down. "I am in your service."

She laughed again, delighted. "I never thought I would see this day come," she said. "The Savior of Olympus kneels at my feet willingly, and the foolish gods can do nothing about it here." She chuckled.

"I would prefer if you didn't call me that, My Lady," he said quietly. "I'm a destroyer, not a savior."

Light, calculated footsteps. "Indeed, Perseus Jackson. A curious name you have."

"Thank you, My Lady," he said hesitantly. The footsteps stopped in front of him, and he drew in a sharp breath. He couldn't see his Lady; she was shadow itself.

Cold fingers brushed his cheek. He shivered. Then, sharply, "Get up and follow me."

Percy heaved himself up on both feet, stumbling from the numbness of staying in the same position for a while. He stilled for a moment before walking forwards, following the sounds of footsteps, the dragging of cloth, and mocking laughter. The footsteps stopped, and the hair on the back of his neck rose.

Then he stepped into shadow. Tiny hands grabbed and pushed at him. An invisible wind tore at him, howling. There was a feeling of weightlessness, almost like he was falling. Any breath he had was torn from his lungs. Then he slammed down, gasping for air and shaking. Then he realized he was on the ground - and he could _see _it.

There was a trickling of water, and Percy looked up, feeling the energy from the underground river. He gasped soundlessly when he saw it; the water was dark, almost black. He recognized it immediately, his knees going weak and memory rising in his mind.

"You must swear your allegiance," the woman said, her presence behind him.

She knelt down next to him, and he froze, muscles going rigid. She took his hand in her own, her fingers long and thin and _cold. _They were pale, almost like the moon against the dark night. She pressed a dagger into his palm, and by instinct, his fingers closed around the hilt.

"Your blood," she demanded. "You must leave behind everything and give yourself to me."

Without hesitation, he took the dagger and flicked his wrist. Cold metal cut through skin easily, and he hissed at the sudden pain. Warmth flowed, red dripping between his fingers. He watched it, mesmerized. It was fascinating, almost; the blood shivered as it dripped down his hand.

"I swear my allegiance to.. my Lady," he said, his resolution firm. "I give everything to you."

She took the dagger, the bronze coated in a thin sheet of red. "And I claim _you_," she whispered, the words sweet but venomous. He watched, pressing the wound in his hand as she dipped the dagger into the water. His blood mixed in it, and a drop fell and hit the ground. Stone sizzled and smoked, bubbled and hissed.

Then, without warning, she pressed the tip to his neck. He jerked forward, but she was holding his arm in a vice-like grip. There was a burning sensation; he bit his tongue until it bled. Fire burned on his neck, and the water of the Styx began to shake, agitated by his emotions. She carved something in his skin, and tears slipped from his eyes, unbidden.

Then there was cool air kissing his neck, and he let out a shaky breath. She hauled him up, long nails digging into skin, and smiled. It was cool, professional, and devoid of emotion. He didn't bother wiping at the slowly-drying tears but instead simply bowed his head.

"You are one of us now," she said. "Welcome, _Percy_."

The next thing he knew, he was suddenly on the ground (_again_) outside of the dark tent, the thick flaps of it fluttering in the wind. He got up on shaky legs and walked forwards. This was it. He'd done it, had committed himself to this army.

Percy reached behind him and felt at the sunken, still-hot skin on the back of his neck. White-hot pain shot through him when he gently ran his fingers over the mark. A symbol, of course. He knew exactly what had been branded on him, the symbol of his Lady, a star inside a crescent moon.

Bryce was waiting for him at the treeline, his expression nervous. "Hey, man," he greeted as Percy got nearer. "Dinner's in an hour, if you wanted to know. C'mon, let's go get that treated at the infirmary." He gestured vaguely, but Percy, whose neck was burning, knew what he was talking about.

"Thanks," Percy said quietly, attempting a smile.

The two of them walked in an uneasy silence for a moment before looking back at the pitch-black tent. A figure stood in the shadows, barely visible. Gleaming eyes watched them with an almost creepy interest. Percy shuddered, and Bryce slung an arm around his shoulders.

"You'll get used to it," he promised. "Life's not so bad here, s'long as we stay outta the way. She might not be good to us, but we're good to each other."

"Like family," Percy said, his voice hollow. His fingers searched for a scar underneath his shirt, finding it - three long, twisted scars that stretched from the side of his ribs across his front down to his right hip.

The other demigod smiled at him, sincere. "Like family," he said lightly, and Percy slung an arm up around Bryce's shoulders and believed him.

Percy tried to memorize the camp as they walked through it. He asked Bryce questions as they walked to the bright white tents - how long he'd been here, where he'd come from, if he had family, whatever.

"Well, I used to go to Camp." Catching Percy's look, he elaborated. "Jupiter. And it wasn't _bad_, I guess, not really, but... I mean, the gods... well." He didn't have to explain. Percy understood.

"So I ran away," he said, and Percy felt him lift a shoulder in a shrug. "And then a couple of weeks ago, the rumors started, you know? Living on the streets, you hear things. Most of us haven't been here for too long, longest maybe two or three months. And there's not too many of us, either."

"Do you have a squad?"

"Sort of," he said. "There's only two of us. You're gonna be in mine, and so then we're just waiting for another person to fill."

"Oh," Percy replied. "Who's the other person? Why haven't I seen them?"

Bryce's smile faltered a bit. "She doesn't like people much, I guess. I mean, she came here maybe a week before you. We tolerate each other for the most part. It's nothing personal; she just can't trust anyone."

"I see." Before Percy could ask another question, they reached their destination. A girl - fifteen or sixteen, maybe - was sitting at a small table, cleaning syringes with a rag. She looked up when Bryce pulled up the flap and stepped in, followed by Percy.

"Oh, you must be Percy," she said, before he could introduce himself. She set down the syringe she'd been cleaning and reached for one of the wooden boxes perched on the table. Inside were rolls or gauze and bandages. With a free hand, she gestured at the cot. "Sit down. This'll only take a minute. I'm Ree, by the way. How you doing, Bryce?"

"Good," Bryce answered. Light fingers probed at his neck. Something was spread over it, and the effect was cooling. He sighed, the pain stopping almost immediately. Bandages were pressed on his neck and taped down. Ree handed him a small tube of ointment and grinned at him.

"Every day for the next three days, and you should be good," she instructed cheerfully. She beamed at him, dimples showing. Her hair, piled into a bun, was falling out.

"Thanks," he told her. Then, hesitantly, "You joining us for dinner later?"

Bryce grinned. "You should, Ree. If you hang with us, you get whatever Fletcher and his squad are cooking up." She pushed a strand of auburn hair behind her ear and smiled.

"I'm in," she told them, looking pleased. Something snapped between the three of them, some sort of acceptance or something.

And as Percy trudged out of the tent, heading for the arena, he figured that the people here would be good for him. He didn't know any of them particularly well, but while his Lady had been cold and merciless, these people were kind and accepting. He could feel a bond forming with Bryce and Ree and Fletcher, a strong one that'd eventually be very hard to break.

Like family, indeed. The hollow in his chest - whatever wound the gods had inflicted upon him - didn't quite feel so empty anymore. It felt good; it really, really did.

* * *

**So here it is. Chapter four.**

**What did you think? And surprise surprise, it's Lady Nyx. Sorry to say I won't be updating for a while; I'm currently on vacation and am updating from my phone as I'm too lazy to get my laptop. Also, it's Camp NaNo. FF takes a backseat. **

_achieving elysium_


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